Magely Advice

[hazlogs]

Salem texts Nicodemus:

Salem: Question. How are your skills at healing physical damage in others?

Nick: I can detect problems but do nothing. this related to your recent Val-themed adventure? If so, I know a guy. I could float the idea past him to see if he'd do it. you'd likely have to be delivered unconscious. I could hang around to make sure you don't end up a lawn chair or a pangolin.

Salem: It's not being a minor that's half so much a problem as being a minor who looks like someone's spent years going at him with knives, fire, and bullets. But I'd rather not risk becoming a minor who is also a pangolin, because that sounds even more inconvenient.
Salem: I appreciate the thought, but I think I'll seek other options.

Nick: I'll make a call and see what can be done. and if he'll work with someone like you. I'll swing by soon, take a look, and see if it's some ongoing effect I can jiggle loose before bothering someone above my pay grade.

Salem (after several minutes): Thanks.

Nick: NP.

(...)

It is currently 17:05 Pacific Time on Thu Nov 5 2015.

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly cloudy. The temperature is 52 degrees Fahrenheit (11 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in from the south at 6 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.20 and rising, and the relative humidity is 93 percent. The dewpoint is 50 degrees Fahrenheit (10 degrees Celsius.) For more detail, see: http://www.wunderground.com/cgi-bin/findweather/getForecast?query=98501

Currently the moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (40% full).

The Hub: Main Floor

The main floor of 'the Hub' is a spacious, almost sprawling room, with a two-story high ceiling and a large loft that looks out over the room itself, accessed via a winding metal staircase set at the opposite end from the heavy security door. One side of the floor is completely open, with a bank of windows facing north and offering a brilliant view of the city, especially at night. The other side contains a series of doors and doorways that lead into other rooms, large and small. One is clearly a kitchen (a very nice large kitchen with its own island and eating area), one is a bathroom, and one a repurposed conference room with a smaller central table than likely existed before, and comfortable rolling chairs that have clearly been reclaimed from various goodwill sources. Other rooms serve as storage, with one standing out as a well maintained server room, from which the local Walker server, various databases, and hardware responsible for the block's free wifi can be accessed.

The open floor itself sports several areas clearly designated for various purposes, though none have been walled off from the rest in any real fashion. One contains a comfortable, beat-up couch and armchairs arranged in a semi-circle around a large flatscreen TV and coffee table, another is a bank of multiple computers, each with their own desk and office chair, while a third is a modest exercise area mostly consisting of an open space of floor covered in a cushioned mat and several free weights. A number of monitors have been mounted on the wall next to the security door; the largest displays the area immediately on the other side of the door, with another showing the interior of the private elevator. The third and largest is split into sections, with one section dedicated to the sub-basement, another to the roof, and the others switching routinely between various parts of the interior and exterior of Maxwell Tower.

The television's on, murmuring a steady stream of Bob Ross's The Joy of Painting, though no one's actually watching the Master of Happy Trees at the moment, because Salem's the only person around, and he's busy off in the exercise area, holding onto a rather wobbly handstand.

This kid is heavily scarred; it looks like he's been through a war, though he can't be much more than twelve or thirteen years old. He's only a few inches over five feet tall, skinny and pale, with long black hair that's just past his narrow shoulders. Thick scar tissue rips down the left side of the kid's thin face (his eye on that side is blind white), while another line runs crookedly across the bridge of his beaky nose. There are pockmarks from old shrapnel wounds as well, and half of his right ear has been torn off at some point. His eyes (the good one's dark brown) are deep-set under thick black eyebrows. The kid limps a bit when he walks, favoring his right leg, and his left hand is missing its smallest finger and half of its ring finger. And marking the right side of his neck, just under his jaw, are three small teardrop-shaped scars, easily unnoticed.

The sheer amount of violence that this barely-adolescent youth has obviously experienced is troubling enough, but the aura of tightly-controlled rage is enough to make most mortals blench.

He's typically dressed in jeans and t-shirt and sneakers, typical casual kid-wear, with a grey hooded jacket for outdoors. Apart from the footwear, his clothing is all a little bit too big on him, but one might imagine that he'll grow into it in a year or so.

Nicodemus lets himself in, looking well rested and in good health. "Anybody home?" he calls, from the front room--perhaps wisely ensuring he's not about to walk into a brawl between two or more surly garou. He's carrying an over-laden, bursting at the seams recycled grocery tote that appears to be full of.... groceries. Much better stuff than he brings to the farmhouse. He hefts the tote with seemingly little effort.

Salem spits out a familiar Serbian cussword, his wobbly handstand faltering; he drops out of it not-quite gracefully, certainly not half as effortlessly as he used to. "Just me at the moment."

Nicodemus carries the bulging tote easily into the kitchen area, placing it onto the counter near the fridge. He immediately puts the Godiva brand ice cream and ice cream treats into the freezer as he talks. "Ah, good. So, tell me about the troubles you've...." He pauses as he notes Salem's appearance. "Yes. Yes, I can see how that might be a problem."

Salem drags his fingers back through his hair, getting it out of his face as he limps over to the kitchen, joining Nick. "Yes. And it's not quite the same as what happened with Val, even if the results are somewhat similar."

"I hate that I was tied up for Halloween this year. I could have taken the pair of you out for trick or treating," Nick says with a lopsided grin. Disrepsectful? Not precisely for someone who isn't a garou. And the rest of what he says bears no hint of disrespect. "Brightside? You're alive." Nick hops up, seating himself on the counter. "I'm assuming you can still shift and still use gifts and rites since you'd been able to telepathically communicate with Emma once you got back into the Realm? Tell me about what happened while I give you a looking over--if you don't mind, that is."

The young Philodox waves a hand in a 'go ahead' gesture. "I can shift," he confirms, "and everything that comes with that, despite being two of three years /younger/ than I was when I had my First Change. Not to mention still having the same battlescars." He scratches at his neck, looking rueful. "I don't remember exactly what happened. Kavi wanted to learn a Fianna Gift, for which he had to make good with Stag. I accompanied him to help. Stag led us... somewhere. Some Umbral or, if I had to guess since it was goddamn /Stag/, some Arcadian realm, and I don't remember much of anything other than the first evening." He pauses. "I came back with a few artifacts in my pockets, and Kavi returned some time later, physically normal but with /all/ of his personal memories stolen."

Ghost shows up on the security monitor, and as is quickly becoming routine with her, she knocks on the heavy security door before letting herself in. She looks...antsy is probably the best word for it, though she isn't quite fidgeting. She's wearing all three layers today; shirt, overshirt, and jacket, with the latter's hood pulled up over a faded ballcap that, in turn, is jammed rather firmly over her hair.

Nicodemus hmms once or twice as you speak, but other than that he's silent--brown eyes fixed upon you as if looking beyond and through your physical body. Which might be close to the truth at the moment. Nearly half a minute passes before he seems to re-focus on the here and now. He blinks a couple times before speaking. "Whatever did it did it. No lingering magickal effects to dislodge or I'd be able to...." The knocks on the door interrupt whatever he was going to say next. And the remainder of the topic dies as Ghost enters. He offers an apologetic "Sorry" to the tween adren. "But I'll check around." And then the focus goes to the newcomer. "Ghost. Got tired of the farmhouse? Or visiting? I seem to have fallen out of the loop of social life around here."

Salem shrugs at Nick's apology. "At this point, I'm... I've gotten used to the notion that I may have to just wait to age out of this, as annoying as that may be. I'm mainly concerned, now, about Veil issues, and attracting the wrong kind of attention. The scars are... a problem." He gives Ghost a brief wave.

"Uh. Visiting, I guess." Ghost looks between Salem and Nick as she slides her hands into her jacket pockets. "I'm not sure it's a good idea to go to Edgewood these days. And M...and Salem asked me to check in regularly."

"They are," Nick grimaces slightly as he nods in agreement with Salem. He's clearly dwelling on that problem somewhat even as he turns to ask Ghost, "Something happened over at Edgewood in the last month or three?" He has definitely been out of the loop.

Salem raises an eyebrow at Ghost. "Because of the thing with you and the spirits?"

Ghost nods slightly in response to Salem's question. "I mean, if it was just, you know, their reaction...but that place is near your Caern, right? And I...I told you I'm.../different/ now. Over there. We don't know why yet."

Nicodemus reaches a gloved hand up to scratch at the back of his head. "You crossed over to the umbra and something's off about you that the spirits took offense over? Or got spooked over?" he inquires curiously.

Salem huffs out a breath, sounding a trifle exasperated, and sits down at the kitchen table. "It's related to the Nothing, the Ooze, whatever you want to call it. Val took a sample of Ghost's blood and... did something with it and a sample of the Ooze. Ghost blood apparently consumed the sample, and since then, or around that time, all spirits in the Umbra are unnerved by Ghost. I don't sense any Wyrm or other serious Triat imbalance, but I gather that the Nothing is rather outside of that."

"It's more than that," Ghost says. "Now anyway." Her shoulders hunch faintly. "I /look/ different."

Nicodemus lowers his hands, taking a serious look at Salem as he communicates what appears to be new information to Nick. Concern immediately crosses his face. He looks again to Ghost. "Different in what way? Crinos? Or... some spiritual reflection only visible in the umbra?"

Salem's brow furrows as he listens, and he absent-mindedly chews on a thumbnail.

"Crinos," Ghost says slowly. "Homid. Lupus. Every form. But...but only over there. This side, nothing. And I feel the same as always. It's only been in the past month, but uh, but I think maybe they saw it first. The spirits? Maybe that's why they were spooked."

"Grand. Just.... Shit," the kinsman mutters darkly, mood shifting further. "And this started shortly after Val took a sample of your blood, infused it with gnosis, and fed it to the Ooze?" Nick works his jaw slowly from side to side. "I've heard--I forget who from as it's been so long ago--that The Nothing can sometimes ignore concepts like distance. It might--maybe--have some remote link to you that could be altering your spirit somehow." He waves a gloved hand dismissively. "All radical and completely unsubstantiated speculation on my part. And not necessarily true at all, as several others have come into physical contact with aspects of The Nothing, walked away from it, and suffered no ill effects."

Salem looks at his gnawed thumbnail with a grimace. "Emma made a bunch of notes about all of this, didn't she? And Dakota's been talking to some of the older spirits in the area."

Ghost inhales slowly, deeply. "I don't know," she admits. "The timeline seems roughly similar. Either she did that before or...or just after I accidentally cured Emma. Or her. Right after I accidentally cured Emma is when the spirits first started acting strange."

Nicodemus muses out loud. "I wonder if whatever was done to you much earlier, before you came to Saint Claire, is somehow.... I don't know. Maybe it's acting like a sponge? Or resonating? Or symbiotic somehow? They didn't use any peculiar materials or substances that they knew little about, did they? Or were you even privy to that knowledge?"

Salem folds his arms on the tabletop, fingers curled inward. "Either that or something else you ran info before you came here..."

Ghost shakes her head. "I don't think so. Familiar metal, familiar spirits. And I was awake for most of it."

Nicodemus takes another stab in the dark. "Ancestry? Ancestor spirit?" He exhales and admits, "I'm grasping at straws here."

Salem's smile is tight and wry. "Join the club." He cocks his head to eyeball Ghost. "Someone's already asked this, I think, but have you ever been to Hanford?"

Instead of immediately answering Nick's question, Ghost gives Salem an uncertain look. His question, however, gets a firm shake of her head. "Never. Never even been near it."

Nicodemus lapses into silence, lips thinned in thought, as he scrutinizes Ghost--as if simply looking much more closely at her might generate some overlooked idea, concept, or link.

Salem squints at Ghost, nose wrinkling. "Are you sure?"

(OOC) Salem activates Truth of Gaia.

Ghost exhales this time, short and sharp. "Yes," she says without hesitation. "This is as close as I've ever been. Which is why this whole thing makes no fucking sense at all."

(OOC) Ghost pages: Registers as true.

Nicodemus stays silent, still seeming to study Ghost's appearance from head to toe.

Salem shakes his head. "We're missing something. Like one of those damn pictures someone posts to Reddit with the caption 'when you spot it...' Some damn stupid little detail, and we're going to all feel like morons when we finally see it."

Ghost shifts her hands from her pockets to cross her arms, frowning. Nick is given a brief, faintly questioning look.

Nicodemus seems to become cognizant of his staring and looks away, frowning. "Maybe not. People often ascribe reason to seemingly connected events when, in reality, they're unconnected completely. Humans like to think in terms of narratives and easy solutions." He belatedly adds, "And I imagine garou have the same shortcoming."

Salem snorts. "We're /experts/ at easy solutions. Which is why this whole situation with the Nothing is so frustrating."

"And why I didn't want to tell anyone about this," Ghost adds. "I mean, Briari was already talking about cutting off limbs to save the body and that kind've shit. Someone sees me over there, and..."

"I'd give a pretty penny to see what the difference was myself, but..." Nick shrugs, as if that would be impossible or at the very least implausable. He suggests to Ghost, "You definitely ought to lay low, though. You seem to have the only defense--or cure--for fighting this thing. It would suck royally if someone blew a gasket or acted rashly--and killed you."

Salem simply nods his agreement.

Ghost's mouth twitches downward. "Personally, I think it would suck just as much even if I didn't have this...whatever it is."

"Well, I'd recommend keeping tabs on things spirit-wise. If whatever it is about you keeps doing what it's doing in the umbra?" Nick shrugs at that point. "I have no idea what happens at that point, but it seems like maybe something you ought to keep an eye on. And maybe cross over only after someone has had the opportunity to chase any nearby spirits off so as to not upset the natives." He glances at Salem-boy, cocking his head slightly as he preps an unusual question. "What do you normally give as a reward-type offering to The Oracle? Anything special?"

Salem rubs the scarred stump where his left smallest finger used to be. "She likes mysteries, puzzles, things that make one, well, think. Anything involved with dreaming or the Dream realm. And, of course, she likes people to encourage others to think and contemplate life's mysteries as well. People who teach and mentor others."

"Yeah," Ghost says in response to Nick. She's not bothering to hide the general glum expression on her face, or the sound in her voice. "Look, I'm gonna go up to the roof, if that's okay. Do some stretching."

Nicodemus raises his head in a nod of acknowledgement. First to Salem, and then to Ghost. "I need to head out, too." He looks to Salem. "Make a few calls and whatnot." Then to the both of them. "You people stay safe and keep your heads down. There's too few Walkers around nowadays. Especially good ones."

Salem nods to both of them, smiling wanly. "Same to you."

Ghost looks as though she might want to add some commentary to that 'too few good Walkers' line, but instead she turns and heads up the metal stairs at a brisk trot.